


In Empty Words and Empty Phrases

by Trialia



Category: Battlestar Galactica (2003)
Genre: Angst, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-11-16
Updated: 2009-11-16
Packaged: 2017-10-03 02:38:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 359
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13293
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Trialia/pseuds/Trialia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Title: In Empty Words and Empty Phrases</p>
    </blockquote>





	In Empty Words and Empty Phrases

**Author's Note:**

> Title: In Empty Words and Empty Phrases

Title: In Empty Words and Empty Phrases

Title: In Empty Words and Empty Phrases

Author: Trialia

Fandom: Battlestar Galactica (2003)

Rating: K

Word Count: 300

Beta: Asto (theastolat)

Character(s)/Pairing(s): Laura Roslin, Laura Roslin/Bill Adama

Spoilers: through Crossroads II

Summary: You don't believe you're beautiful.

A/N: Written early in season 4, but I forgot to post it 'til now...

xxx

You're not beautiful.

Truly, you have never thought of yourself as physically beautiful. Heavy features, a long chin, hooked nose; you have pretty eyes and rich red hair, and those save you from being plain, or even ugly. (Just. Or so you believe.)

It mystified you when one of the hacks - you can call them that now, because you're careful never to believe what you read; you know otherwise, manipulating the media as you do - first referred to you as "a beautiful older woman", in an article Billy pointed out to you. (How do they see that when you don't?)

Even Richard never called you beautiful unless he wanted something.

Does it matter?

You learned to accept it, and after about a year you'd learned not to mind the series of appellations the media add after your name (in one bad week it was "Laura the Borer", and in the week after that trek to Kobol they dubbed you "Laura the Explorer").

They find what they want to use, and use it; you try not to give them ammunition, and after a while, after that long sojourn on New Caprica, Baltar's trial and all that follows, you stop caring altogether what the media think of you. (How can a woman who's dying still be seen as a beauty?)

It helps, though, that Bill Adama is there, with his dry sense of humour and that smile of his that barely creeps through when you're in public but turns into a wicked grin when you're meeting in his quarters; the gentle touch of his hand at your chin when he tilts your face up to kiss you. His opinion matters to you.

You know you're not beautiful, but he thinks you are, and says so.

Maybe, just maybe, that's enough.

_-fin_


End file.
